Even feral, half out of his mind, he was clever. Attentive. Satira squeezed her eyes shut and moaned with every rasping lick, every wicked thrust. Her heels scraped helplessly against the blankets as she curled her toes and trembled at the precipice of something vast and beautiful.
Two of his thick fingers thrust into her as his tongue played over her clitoris.
“Oh—” Both of her hands tangled in the blanket and she couldn’t recall how they’d gotten there, only knew that she would fly away if she let go. He stroked and worked into her, and heat became a fire, an inferno focused on each wicked lick. Every one drove her higher, until she was writhing, pushing up against his hand with sharp little jerks of her hips, each one accompanying a sobbing plea. “Please, please—”
Wilder lifted his head, though he continued to fuck her with his fingers, adding a third before curling them, rubbing inside her. “Like this. So much pleasure, darling. Constant, until you can’t take any more.” It was his voice that did it, the low endearment, hoarse and hungry. He wanted her— needed her—and the empty, lonely place inside her vanished. Tension snapped, and every muscle in her body tensed at the same time before pure, clean relief flooded her, riding a wave of tempestuous pleasure.
“Yes. ” He kept murmuring as he moved above her. His hands closed around her wrists again, pushing them above her head. One thrust, and he slid home, all the way inside her.
Climax faded into a tense pressure, her body struggling to adjust to the size of him. Satira gasped in a breath, then another, still trembling as her oversensitive nerves registered even the faint stretching pain as something pleasurable.
Or maybe he was pleasurable. So close, she could feel his heat, his breath stirring her hair.
“Wilder…I’ve wanted this so much.”
“I know.” The words were a low growl, and he took her mouth, kissing her deep and hard.
The unyielding thrust of his tongue made her hungry for another kind of claiming. Her hands were trapped, but she was free to ease her legs up, bending her knees until his cock edged deeper, driving a moan from her.
“Satira.” He urged her legs higher, tighter around him. “Pull me in, sweetheart. That’s it.” She dug one heel into his back, urging him to move. She felt more tightly wound than a crossbow string, but he was implacable. The only recourse she had was words. “Please, it’s better than anything else.
I—I need more. Please, give me more.”
Finally, he did. He eased away and drove against her with a groan. “Fuck, yes.” No pain now, just beautiful friction. She pressed her open mouth to his cheek and his jaw, kissing anywhere she could reach as she fell into him. “More of you. I need all of you.” It freed something in him, unleashed a flood of desire that he rained down on her with long thrusts and his lips on her skin. Fierce. Untamed.
But still careful. With her pulse pounding in her ears and his claiming trembling through her, she was painfully aware of how easily he could have hurt her. That his grip could have shattered bone, that the need inside him was so vast he could leave her broken.
She wasn’t frightened. He surrounded her, filled her, took her higher with every moment—and when pleasure crested with an intensity close to pain, she felt safe coming apart. Felt safe crying out, letting his name leave her lips again and again as she dug her fingernails into his shoulder and held on to the only solid thing in her world.
He whispered, the words too low and scattered for her to hear. His hips pumped faster, and he kissed her once, then held her gaze. “Again.”
Dark. He was so dark, his eyes swallowed by the beast. Maybe another woman would have feared it, but Satira closed her fingers around his rigid biceps and felt her own power. He was desperate for her pleasure, fixated on it.
As much as she needed him, he needed her so much more.
Satira lifted her chin, offering her throat to him. “Help me.” He bit her hard, with an almost savage growl. His rhythm faltered and resumed, faster. Frenzied.
“Satira—”
“I—I need—” There. A tiny shift of her hips and everything tilted sideways. “You,” she gasped, as climax consumed her.
He howled with triumph, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he coaxed her through the orgasm with slow, firm thrusts and grinned when she whimpered her disbelief at feeling him still hard and ready inside her.
“That’s a start, sweetheart.”
A start.
For one moment, fear tightened its fist around her heart, and she closed her eyes to prevent him from seeing it. She’d been a fool to think she understood, to imagine a bloodhound in the grip of the new moon was nothing more than a particularly lusty man. This was magic, pure and simple, the sort her analytical mind had always shied away from.
I won’t be enough— The traitorous thought struggled to rise, and she rejected it. Magic or not, hound or not, it was Wilder above her, a man she craved with everything she was.
She didn’t need to be enough, and opening her eyes confirmed it. Hunger was there, and need, but something deeper stared out from his wild gaze. Something that made her heart leap. In this moment, she wasn’t just enough.
She was everything.
Moving slowly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, smoothing her fingers along bunching muscles as she returned his smile. “Take me higher.”
He did.
The hours were a blur of skin and sex.
Wilder traced his hand over the curve of Satira’s hip and drew her closer, until he had her ass nestled against him. “Like this?”
She trembled, her breath coming in tiny, hitching gasps. “Oh—oh yes. It’s—it’s…” He gritted his teeth and eased deeper, until the slick head of his cock breached the impossibly tight ring of muscle. He had to go slowly, carefully introduce her to this new sensation.
“Wilder—” So tight, but she was eager too, damn near vibrating with indecision as her hips moved in small jerks—first away, like it was too much, then back, taking him deeper as if she couldn’t get enough.
He pressed harder, pulling her to meet his slow, careful thrust. “See, sweetheart?” The only way he could manage would be to get her off fast, so he slid his fingers around to her clit.
The moan started deep inside her and twisted into hoarse cry as he stroked her. She was so close it didn’t take much, a few firm circles in just the right spot and she went wild for him.
Holding back was impossible then, control a distant dream, but Wilder knew deep inside that he wouldn’t hurt her. He would sooner take one of her fancy weapons and turn it on himself.
No, he wouldn’t give her pain. He’d give her pleasure, ecstasy.
“Satira.”
Her tongue dragged over his cock in slow, teasing swipes, but through the lust he could see mischief in her eyes. When she lifted her head, her hands came to her breasts. Pressed them together. She arched her back and smiled, nothing shy or retiring left in her demeanor. “You enjoy looking at them. Would you enjoy fucking them?”
A thrill of lust shot through him as he looked down at her, at the soft, pale flesh she held on display.
“And give up your mouth?”
“It seems like you might be able to enjoy both, though it’s only a theory.” Her dark eyes held only excitement and anticipation. “Proving a theory requires rigorous experimentation.”
“Yes, it does.” He thrust against her, hissing in a breath when her soft flesh hugged his shaft. “Fuck.” She circled her tongue around the head of his erection with a satisfied little noise. “See?” Wilder groaned. “Do it again.”